Leopards have Rosettes
by ahlade
Summary: Draco Malfoy comments on the spells under the Wonderbra, the brouhaha over wizard politics and the truth behind the Axe Effect. Stay tuned, Muggle London!
1. Default Chapter

**Leopards have Rosettes**.

The war was upon them, she knew.

Yet here, in the dappled sunlight of her parents' garden, it seemed like a faraway dark cloud, one that would dissipate long before it would obscure the sun. Harry was safe for the moment at Privet Drive, his scar hadn't hurt since the showdown at the Ministry, and, although they all grieved at the loss of Sirius, this summer seemed to be a time of recuperation and rest.

A fly buzzed contentedly that late summer evening, its droning hover lending substance to the image that would illustrate that particular moment as 'peaceful' in Hermione Granger's organized brain. She knew that moments such as this would be rare in the future, and therefore were to be treasured and savored as they occurred. She opted to turn over on her belly as she strung out each moment, trying to form one delicious memory, taking in her surroundings with renewed perception in order to do this task well. Miss Granger was, in many ways, a very thorough girl.

She carefully noted the warmth of the sun as she lay on a towel on the soft grass, the smell of the carefully maintained herbaceous borders as they drooped slightly in the sun, and the artless prattling of her Muggle friend. Through the open French window she could hear Delia Smith's restrained rhapsodies over summer vegetables and her mother's good natured gossiping on the 'phone. It was all wondrously normal, especially because none save she seemed aware of the fragility of this state. Everybody else was oblivious to her need to bottle this normality and transience into a penseive experience: a whole silver strand strung out whole and pliant, to be perused at leisure, when her bones ached with age and the sun shone less brightly.

"Hermioneee!"

Her friend's insistent voice invaded her somnolent brain, and she squinted into the bright azure of the sky.

"Sorry, Katie. Got a bit lost," she apologized easily to her childhood friend, who came over almost everyday now that Hermione was down from her boarding school for 'specially skilled children.'

Her friends and relatives had hardly been surprised by the fact that she had been selected to go to such an establishment, knowing as they did Hermione's extraordinary mental capacity even as a child.

Katie, for example, dark-haired and tall, though by no means as bright, had accompanied Hermione to enough science fairs and math Olympiads as a young child as to have no doubt whatsoever that her childhood friend would win a Nobel Prize before she turned thirty.

But she still 'hmmphed' in feigned displeasure " Here I am telling you about the new exciting man - the very love of my life - and you go ahead and snore your head off!"

"I was not snoring…just closed my eyes against the glare!" Hermione protested.

"Whatever! Anyway, as a penalty you have to come out with me tomorrow when I go to see him. To London. We're going clubbing."

"To London? I don't know if my parents will let me…" Hermione trailed off, knowing that her parents were particularly protective of their gifted child. And London? Well, to them, London was the hotbed of sin, the cesspool of depravity from which innocent sixteen year olds were to be zealously protected.

"NaaaaH! That's all sorted. My mum's going to London and she'll drop us off at my cousin Daphne's apartment. She thinks Manda and I are only going shopping, and it's my birthday treat. And I know you can convince your mum to let you go up for a day's shopping, and we can take the train back the next day! Come on! It'll be fun. Besides, we're both almost sixteen, … unless you want me to meet an almost stranger in a strange city all on my own?" she asked with an almost mock seriousness. Katie did offend virtue very well indeed.

"Whatever! Hermione scoffed. "How on earth are you going to convince Daphne to let you go clubbing, when you are ostensibly going shopping? And wouldn't your mum mind if I tagged along?"

"Oh! That's the thing! See, Daphne's going to Paris with her boyfriend, who happens to be much-married and therefore an ogre in my aunt's eyes. It's a mutual back rubbing thing. So Daphne was muchly pleased when I said I would bring Manda along so I wouldn't be all alone at her place, and she'll be more that pleased to know that you'll be coming too! As will my mum—they all know you're the responsible one!"

"Little do they know that you have corrupted me. Thoroughly," Hermione said, as she yawned and stretched.

"Hah! You're as naughty as they come Miss Granger. Need I remind you of poor Mrs. Wrangle in primary school?" Katie shook her finger sternly at her friend.

"Well, I had an impulse control problem. I haven't poured glue on any more chairs since then, I assure you," she answered primly. "OK, I'll ask mum tonight. You want more lemonade?" she asked as she lazily got up and wandered towards the open French doors.

Now it was Katie who was sprawled out on her towel with her eyes closed. 'Lemonade…good! Come back soon and I'll tell you all about my manly hunk of blonde-y goodness… mmm…'

Hermione smiled and made her way into the cool shadow of the kitchen, shaking her head at her friend's larger than life romantic escapades.


	2. 2

It turned out that they had to take the train to London. Katie's mother had decided that with Hermione there to restrain her volatile daughter, she did not need to play chaperone after all. Hermione and Katie had settled into their seats and were anxiously waiting for Manda, who, predictably, was running late.

Just as the Virgin train was snaking out of the platform at Rugby, Manda made her way haphazardly to her seat through the inter-connecting carriage doors.

"I've been looking all over the train for you! I thought I'd miss the train for sure! First mum couldn't find the car keys and then we had to go back to get that voucher from Harvey Nicks. Five hundred pounds! Summer sales! I'm knackered!' Manda said all this in a single breath as she collapsed on the seat opposite the two girls, depositing her many bags, water, coffee, and the latest copy of Hello! around her, forming a careless rain of territorial markers.

Once she had settled down, checked her artfully windblown, blond hair in the window and her face in her compact, she looked over at Hermione and Katie. "So. Who'sthe boyfriend?"

Hermione, used to the complete self-obsession and drama-queen nature of her friend, simply rolled her eyes and continued to look out of the window at the green fields that past. Katie however, took an anticipatory breath and launched into her description, obviously having waited for this question for a long time.

"Oh! He's delicious. I mean snogworthy to the umpteenth degree. I met him at that Opening at the British Museum-you know the one my mum dragged me to last week? I thought it'd be full of these old stiffs discussing another bunch of coins found in Wales or some such thing. But it wasn't like that at all. They had live music and lovely canapés, and lots of young people." Katie was obviously surprised that could voluntarily brave a museum and not automatically be transformed into a septuagenarian.

"Well, my mum had managed to seek out and corner the poor curator of the Coins and Medals Department, so I knew she was lost to the world for at least two hours. I was sort of wandering around –you know, randomly swiping canapés, and wondering if my mum would mind terribly if I had some champagne, when I saw him. Honestly, I though one of the Greek friezes had come to life." Here Katie paused for affect and made fanning motions at her face.

"Why, was he in the buff, with really small genitals?" asked Manda, opening her eyes wide.

"What? No!" exclaimed Katie, as Hermione snickered, inadvertently drawn to the conversation.

"I meant he was really good looking—pale, but really stunning. And he did not have small…I mean Greeks don't have… I mean… Manda!" Katie glared at her friend, losing track of her narrative.

Manda was unruffled "Not Greeks—Greek statues. Also Roman ones, you know. That's what Lawrence said on the BBC the other day. I remember that bit. But I forget why. Hermione, why do you think that is? I mean, David does have a _really_ small willy, doesn't he?" Manda appealed to her clever friend, ignoring Katie's exasperated look.

Hermione, while she prized her know-it-all status, did not feel qualified to answer Manda's question, mostly because her own experience of male genitalia had been gained primarily through the perusal of books on art History.

"Umm… I think Katie meant that he was white and lightly muscled and really pretty, Manda. Though you know, Greek friezes were actually polychrome, so…'

"Can we please shut up about Greek sculpture and get back to Draco?" Katie almost screamed in frustration.

"Draco? Katie, are we going to London to meet Draco _Malfoy_?" Hermione said, in a voice redolent of horror.


	3. 3

"Why yes, Hermione! Do you know him? Isn't he absolutely gorgeous? And sooo polite. And such address…" Katie sighed, oblivious both to Manda's raised eyebrows and her loud flicking of _Hello!_ , as Hermione came to terms with the idea of Draco Malfoy voluntarily associating with Muggles in a social setting that did not involve creative torture.

Katie was lost in contemplation of the perfection that was Draco, when a frown marred her beatific expression. "How _do_ you know him, Hermione? Does he attend your school?" Before Hermione could reply, she gushed, "Oh! I just _knew_ he was frightfully clever as well! His eyes were sooo intense…''

"Uh… yes," Hermione answered, hoping that Malfoy hadn't given Katie any particulars about their school; after all, the problem with lies was that they tended to tell on each other. But apparently Katie was satisfied with her answer, for she carried on, unmindful of Hermione's discomfort, or to the obvious gagging motions Manda was making from behind the Spice Girls' latest antics.

"Oh! I remember now! He did tell me he went to boarding school. He was at the Museum with his mum too. Apparently, they had loaned bits of their private collection of Egyptian artifacts to the museum to mark the opening of the new wing. I saw his mum when she was talking to the Museum director. The diamonds on her! They must be absolutely loaded!" At this Manda looked up from her magazine—she had an almost Pavlovian reaction to diamonds.

"Really! Handsome and rich. Go you, Katie! Does he have a brother- preferably older?" Manda asked hopefully.

"No. And thank God for small mercies," Hermione interrupted before Katie could comment. "Malfoy is an only son. And he is a complete and utter prat! Katie, are you sure you did not have _any_ of that champagne? Or had you been at the crazy weed again?"

"Whatever do you mean, Hermione? Prat? He was ever so polite! He talked to me for hours. OK, for twenty minutes. And I did not have any champagne! Maybe one glass… I wasn't pissed or anything. Just, you know, wittier." Katie protested, as Manda giggled.

"And he did not sneer or smirk, or make any horrible snobbish comments? And this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about—pale, pointy-faced, old-man hair?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"You mean porcelain-skinned, aristocratic-featured and platinum-haired? Yes, the very same. I mean, how many people on earth are called Draco Malfoy, for God's sake?"

"What happened, did he beat you at exams? Why are you dissing him?" Manda butted in, her interest piqued by the intensity of Hermione's criticism. " No…wait! He's your ex, isn't he?" she said with barely concealed glee.

"Ex. Hah! As if! And no, he has never beaten me at exams… except once at po... at polymer chemistry. And that too because we have a very biased professor!" Hermione flushed at the passion in her voice at the mention of marks and the knowing looks her friends exchanged.

"No. It's not that. Malfoy just isn't nice,' she continued earnestly, trying to make her friends understand, make them aware of the danger that lurked so close to them. " His family has nasty underworld connections. Drugs I think….and weapons . Yes, arms trafficking to poor African nations. They are bad people."

"Christ! Hermione! I doubt he's planning world domination while studying, what was it? Polymer chemistry!" Katie sniffed.

"Yes, but his father definitely is," Hermione retorted. "He was arrested and everything."

"He's sixteen, and you've already made him out to be some sort of Professor Moriarty. Don't you think you are a tiny bit biased?" Katie protested, as Manda nodded in agreement. "Listen—let's not fight about it. We're here to have a good time, so let's not spoil it. I mean I'm not going to elope with him, however charming he may be. So relax. Besides, he invited us to Boujis."

"Boujis!" Manda shrieked. "Katie, you utter cow! Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have sat on Hermione before allowing her to say a word against the God who scored us invites to Boujis! Hermione! Shush! You and I will chaperone Katie so that she's not sold into white slavery. But I will go out tonight and I will pretend I am eighteen and so will you both. So there!" Manda opened her compact with a decisive click as the train finally pulled into Liverpool Street .

Hermione was silent during the bus ride to Maidavale as her friends chattered about the various sale signs in all the store windows they passed. Luckily, her outburst in the train did not seem to have affected their spirits, though it had left a mark on her. With the revelation of the identity of Katie's new friend had come a new realisation: the reason the holidays were so soothing for her was because of the complete scission her life as a muggle offered her from the dreadful prominence of being Harry Potter's best friend. She valued this separation, and now, Draco Malfoy, with all his Slytherin cunning, had breached her barriers and bled into her balmy summer. But now that the contamination had occurred, she could no more ignore it and go back to her isolation than she would leave her friend to the mercy of a pack of ravenous wolves.

What worried her even more was that Malfoy had been charming to Katie. Charm: an oxymoron when taken in context of a Malfoy. While she hoped that, like her, Malfoy too was bound by the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Magic, she could not rule out that some form of enchantment had been used against Katie, perhaps administered by someone who was not a party to the restrictions of the decree. And who was the target in this elaborate charade? Was it she? Or was it, as always, a devious plot to get at Harry through her? Her mind roiled with conspiracy theories, even as London went past in stops and starts of midday traffic.

By the time she had followed Katie and Manda to Daphne's flat, (after following Daphne's carefully texted instructions regarding the key hidden in the front hall, and the codes for the security alarm) Hermione had resolved to keep a very close eye on both Katie and Malfoy. She appreciated that even with his identifiable arrogance and pureblood pride Malfoy was hazardous: were he to be bleached of these warning colours, were he to stop flying so blatantly the pennant of his allegiance, he could prove unstoppable. A subtle Malfoy was infinitely more dangerous than a grandstanding one.


	4. 4

The rest of the day was spent shopping. Manda dragged them to Harvey Nichols, where she indulged in a veritable orgy of shoes and makeup. Hermione was forced to buy a skirt that seemed to have barely a hand span's length of fabric, and yet cost the earth. This, she learnt from her friends, was Fashion. Hermione correctly interpreted this to mean that, like magic, it too did not follow the rules of physics.

The girls then trailed through Sloane Street, admiring all the designer store windows, and even daring to go into a couple of the less forbidding ones. At six, they decided it was time to head back home, for a spot of early dinner and then a full scale preening in preparation of the big night out.

Takeaway curry was duly ordered from one of the menus taped to the fridge, and then the ritual of getting ready to go out began in earnest. Loud music was inflicted on the unsuspecting neighbours and all of Daphne's scented candles were lit in order to set the right mood. The bathroom was amicably shared by the three friends, and they congregated in the living room after having shampooed and showered.

Hermione missed her Sleekeazy potion, but learnt that "Be Curly", nicked from Daphne's bathroom cabinet, worked equally well on her hair. While the product did not straighten it, it did make her hair more manageable and orderly, just as it said it would on the bottle. She immediately decided to buy a crate of the stuff to take back with her to Hogwarts. After all, unlike the potion, it could be applied in the shower, and then simply left in.

Manda, meanwhile, was crafting her hair into wild disarray, one wild spike at a time. Katie had decided to wear her dark hair short and sleek, just sculpting it around her forehead into artful peaks.

"Why don't you wear your new skirt, Hermione? You're never going to get a chance to wear it at home," said Katie, looking up from painting her nails bright blue.

"It's entirely too short!" Hermione protested. "I thought I'd wear it on the beach or around the garden to sunbathe."

Manda wandered in from the kitchen where she had managed to discover a carton of ice cream and a bottle of Bailey's. She put her precious burden down on the coffee table and rooted amongst their shopping booty.

"Tut, Hermione! You do not wear," she took out the skirt in question and squinted at the label, "'plain sud' in the garden. Maybe in the bathroom…"

"_Plein Sud_- _Sud_ as in South! Not plain sud! It's not soap!" The purist in Hermione rose to the bait before she could stop herself.

"Well, then wear your _Plein Sud_, Hermione, while you still have a tan, and no cellulite," Manda admonished, as she disappeared into the kitchen once again to hunt out bowls and spoons.

The girls were all dressed up and ready by nine, and waited for the sun to set before getting out of the flat. In comparison to the turquoise handkerchief dress that Katie wore, and the vinyl number that Manda sported, Hermione felt almost conservative in her dark denim mini skirt and boots. Manda had been convinced to drape a Pashmina, (again courtesy of Daphne), over her entirely too revealing top, but Katie refused to cover the acres of tanned leg revealed by her dress and her strappy Roman sandals.

Hermione had therefore felt it prudent to call a taxi rather than brave public transport, with her companions giddy both with excitement and the liberal dosing of ice cream with Bailey's. The taxi arrived just as the last bit of glitter had been applied, and they were soon bowling down High Street Kensington and reached Boujis just before ten.

They waited pensively in the gathering dark as they saw the already lengthening queue outside the exclusive club. As the watch hands inched past the hour, Katie started tapping an impatient foot on the pavement. Hermione merely kept a firm hold of her bag, and kept an eye out for suspicious silver heads.

"Well… if it isn't the mu…most beautiful girl I know," a drawling voice cut into her thoughts, even as it was drowned by a squeal as Katie hurled herself at the speaker.

Hermione's glare could have melted the tarmac on the road.

"Malfoy," she said curtly, as the tall boy extricated himself from Katie's embrace, all the while holding Hermione's gaze.

"Granger. What a pleasant surprise," Malfoy said, in a voice that managed to imply exactly the opposite.

"Draco, Hermione, you know each other… isn't it wonderful?" Katie gushed, oblivious to the tension between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor. "Draco, this is Manda. We go to school together." Katie could barely contain her giddy excitement.

"Charmed," said Malfoy, taking Manda's hand and staring into her eyes before turning back to Katie and slipping a careless hand around her waist, and guiding her proprietarily to the club entrance.

"No _wonder_ you love your school! Are there more like him where he comes from?" Manda muttered to Hermione as she followed Malfoy and Katie across the road.

Hermione merely sniffed and tossed her hair as she trailed behind the foppishly elegant figure that was even now whispering into Katie's entirely too eager ear. She wondered if her carefully constructed fake id would pass muster under the scary eye of the bouncer, but as they approached, the silken rope barrier was whisked aside and they were swept in with an ingratiating "Welcome, Mr. Malfoy!" breathed by the lady holding the guest list.


	5. 5

Inside, the club was all postmodern multiplicity - minimalist decorum mated with wanton excess, all draped with the decadence of night and the lingering aroma of cigar smoke. Music thrummed in a blistering, numbing, wall of sound that caused Hermione's heartbeat to resonate with its rhythm. Half-perceived silhouettes, glistening limbs and incompletely resolved shadows inhabited this place of darkness and strobing light, and she was almost bewildered by the onslaught of stimuli.

She, however, noted that they had been followed inside by a man who had lingered unobtrusively behind them ever since they had been met by Malfoy. Whereas the boy seemed completely at ease in his Muggle clothing, the man looked distinctly uncomfortable, thus convincing Hermione that he was a wizard guarding Malfoy in the wilds of Muggle London.

Malfoy was led to a cozy corner table, where he immediately sprawled in what she thought was an indecent manner on the dark leather. Hermione scoffed at his attitude and crossed her arms across her chest, which seemed to momentarily distract Malfoy from flirting with the waitress who had come up to their table for orders.

"And what would you like, Granger? They don't do Bu.. Bavarian beer."

"I know that, Malfoy!" she snapped at him, and then turned to the waitress. "I'll have Coke, please. Diet, no ice."

"A mojito, please," cried Manda and Katie in unison, completely missing Hermione's glare, developed especially to prevent underage drinking. She was hardly surprised that Malfoy could get the club to turn a blind eye to his underage drinking excesses. The bodyguard wizard had probably put a mild _confundus_ charm on the waiting staff for just such nefarious purposes, she thought.

She realised that Malfoy was still smirking at her, so she turned her glare at him instead, causing him to smirk even more infuriatingly. Katie and Manda then decided to go to the loo to freshen up, and Hermione watched with disapproval as Katie deliberately brushed against Malfoy whilst making her way to the toilets. Seeing her expression, Malfoy helped Katie along with a judiciously applied hand to her bottom and winked obnoxiously at Hermione, who huffed in annoyance. She had taken care to sit as far away from Malfoy and his leather sofa of decadence as was possible, choosing an uncomfortably low pouf, which made her skirt ride up and did nothing to improve her mood.

"I can't believe you're doing this," shouted Hermione above the thumping music, when she was interrupted by someone tapping on her shoulder. She looked up with a toss of her head at the man, who mimed asking whether the leather pouf next to hers was taken.

She was about to tell him to go ahead and take the horrid thing away, when Malfoy snaked an indolent yet surprisingly strong arm out and pulled her next to him onto the sofa. Hermione squeaked with indignation, while Malfoy gestured to the man to take away both seats. This he did, with a loud 'cheers' aimed at Malfoy, who settled back even more comfortably into the black leather and lifted his champagne flute to his lips.

Hermione, meanwhile, was trying to slither as far way as possible from the Slytherin, which was difficult on a deep couch in which the seat tipped heavily towards its lounging occupant; she was aware that she looked faintly ridiculous as she tried unsuccessfully to scrabble away. The blond just raised a lazy eye brow.

"Statute of Secrecy, Granger," came the bored drawl, "I have no designs on your virtue, so stop acting the shrinking maiden. I don't intend to answer your no doubt nosy questions if they are shouted out loud in a Muggle club." At this, Hermione resigned herself to sitting so close to Malfoy that she could actually smell his cologne.

"You have the cheek to talk to me about the Statute of Secrecy! Strolling into a member's only club! Underage, ordering drinks –how many _confundus_ charms did you have to cast to even get in here?"

"It's called money, Granger. It talks a universal language. That and my charm. My family has extensive investments in the Muggle world; apparently this bit of real estate belongs to us. And who casts a _Confundus_ when a little _Inertiae _will suffice? How very Gryffindor of you." He turned away to adjust the snake cufflinks on his shirt.

"What! You can't tell me there isn't a wizard sitting right behind us, probably with his wand trained on me at this very moment. Or that you are not wearing an Illusion shirt! Stop trying to pretend you…"

Malfoy looked complacently at the crushed silver shirt that fitted him closely across an undeniably attractive chest and shoulders.

"Miyake, I believe. From a shop around the corner. Very impressive for a Muggle, don't you think?" he asked, suggestively trailing a hand across his stomach and chest. Then he leaned across and whispered into her ear so that his breath susurrated warmly against her cheek. "It's all right, Granger. You can say that you like it. I won't hold it against you."

Just as she was about to deliver a scathing retort that would put Malfoy and his stupid pectorals in place, he leaned back and continued as if had not just invaded her personal space.

"These jeans however… There I agree there is magic involved, but then it's available to all these poor Muggles as well, so it's hardly an unfair advantage."

He smiled tolerantly at a couple of women in skimpy dresses, who promptly did a very good impression of Lavender and Parvati in full airhead mode. Hermione thought uncharitably that they must have been thirty if a day , and that they really ought not to be flirting with a sixteen year old boy, however much encouragement they were receiving from said delinquent.

"Ha! So you _are_ using magic to enhance your…" she almost said sex appeal, but settled for, "appearance!"

"Seven jeans, Granger. They _are_ available in Muggle shops, you know." His look suggested that anybody who did not wear a two hundred pound pair of jeans as a matter of course was to be pitied.

"The normal levitation charm on the back pockets, a subtle shrinking solution on the thighs for women… Nothing outrageous. Needless to say, my family owns a stake in the company." It should have been impossible to smirk indulgently, yet Malfoy managed that difficult facial expression.

"Seven jeans are magical?" Hermione squeaked. This was news to her.

"Of course, Granger. You expect a Muggle garment to make everyone look slimmer, taller and more toned without a little help? Please, it's like the Wonderbra: impossible without magic."

"The Wonderbra is …" Hermione gaped at Malfoy, but was interrupted by Manda and Katie coming back from their expedition to the ladies' room, which apparently had been successful, for both were freshly made up and beaming.

"Come on, Draco! Let's dance!" said Katie, weaving an insistent hand through Malfoy's far from resisting one. He got up and followed her, without a backward glance, showing off just how good a levitation charm was woven into his jeans.

Hermione shook her head vigorously to clear it of traitorous thoughts.

"Coming, Hermione?" said Manda as she followed the beacon of the bright blond head through the throng of gyrating bodies.

"In a moment," said Hermione. "I'll finish my …"

But Manda was already lost in the crowd. She sighed in frustration and settled back onto the sofa, and then strained around to try and see the bodyguard, but he seemed to have abandoned his seat in order to be closer to Malfoy.

Hermione picked up her staid Coke and wished that they served it in a more exciting glass so that it at least did not _look_ so bland. Then the beat got to her and she started moving her head to the music, feeling less out of place and more prepared towards keeping an eye on the nasty Slytherin and his mechanisations on the dance floor.

Suddenly, she felt a body slide onto the leather beside her. She was about to deliver a stern reprimand, but then realised that the intruder was extremely personable, and was smiling in a decidedly attractive fashion at her. She returned the charming smile.

"Honey, you know the hottie you came in with?" said the man, who, Hermione decided on closer inspection, was neither cute nor personable.

"Do you think he's free?"

Or straight, for that matter.

"He is here with my friend, and he doesn't…doesn't swing that way," she said, as she got up swiftly, damning Malfoy and his stupid pointy-faced, bad boy charm to Azkaban.

Hermione made her slow way through a hundred jostling, bopping bodies to where the crowd was thickest, and there saw Malfoy dancing with practiced ease to the beats of Santana, with Katie draped around him like a particularly clingy snake. If she had thought that Manda would prove to be a vigilant friend and insinuate herself between Katie and the evil Malfoy, she had been right, except for the part where Manda was consistently forgetting to detach _herself_ from said evil.

Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands, and pushing through the adoring fangirls , poked the blond who formed the nucleus of the swarm of nubile, writhing bodies.

"No glamour charm, my…" she muttered, as she pulled Malfoy by one silk-clad sleeve back to their relatively quiet corner.

She pushed him against the slate wall, and pinned him there with a fierce gaze.

"Enough! What are you doing here consorting with Muggles, and how does this fit in with your plans for world domination? Are you planning to infest the whole world with snotty blonde kids? Is that the plan?" she asked, poking him in the chest with each query.

Malfoy, looked annoyed, but then just rolled his eyes. "It's politics, Granger. And it's complicated. Now stop assaulting me physically and I'll try to explain."


	6. 6

AN: Huge thanks to my beta Gauri M, who must be absolved completely of any and all remaining mistakes in this fic. All blame rests on me and my vlie computer, which ate some of the revised versions. (No darling, I'm not talking about you, it's that G5 at work which is to blame…)

Also, many thanks to all who reviewed, including the person who was 'submitted to attend' that event of unimaginable tedium. This is the end of this particular vignette—the story continues with a different POV.

"That wizard you think is here as my flunky is actually a ministry enforcement agent."

Despite herself, Hermione turned to glance at the man now surveying them from the bar.

Malfoy's smirk was back as he leant over and whispered. "You think I would willingly talk to you and to your Muggle friends? There was a great deal of pressure involved, I assure you."

"Incentive, you mean," Hermione cut in coldly.

"That, too. My father believes that it is time we proved that our agenda is based not on an 'illogical prejudice' but rather on a valid political ideology. We've set up an action group: the Pureblood Alliance. We propagate a multi-pronged political strategy that aims to build up support within the magical community through a sustained campaign of directional action. Fascinating stuff, you know—keeps an audience entranced for ages."

He smiled widely at her and then at the Ministry agent. "I'd invite you to join, but you lack the necessary… political acumen." His mocking words seemed to circle her like a pack of hyenas menacing a dying antelope.

She raised her chin and demanded, "And you're what? The acting head of the Alliance while your father is in Azkaban?"

"You haven't heard?" He would make a good politician; he even managed to sound pitying. "My father was released the very day the ministry Aurors took him into custody. We do have Interceders, you know. And Malfoys retain the best ones."

Hermione refused to back down, though now the music, the people, and the jostling club were a vague background noise. All she could see was a pair of flinty eyes that held her in thrall through a wavering curtain of silver hair. She could smell his familiar smell, a smell that set off a frisson of recognition in her memory and her own fear.

"Yes, we call them sharks in the muggle world, or lawyers," she muttered, feeling a swathe of cold down her lower back. She convinced herself it was a draught from the air-conditioning.

"Of course, as an eye witness to your father's role in the incident at the Department of Mysteries, it makes perfect sense that I was not once called to testify against him." Hermione crossed her arms and stared, pretending that her illusion of safety had not just been shredded; that her convictions of moral absolutes in her world were still intact.

Draco raised an imperious eyebrow. "There was hardly need. My father was proved to be under the Draconis Imperius by the best known healers at St Mungo's. In fact, the Ministry has offered him the use of the only fully functional portable Antithaumic chamber in the world. It can hardly afford such a powerful figure to become a pawn of an extremist group yet again."

"The Draconis Imperius is a merely a hypothesis—nobody has ever successfully cast it!" Hermione protested.

"Until recently. My father is proof of its existence."

"A circular argument if there ever was! You are saying that your father is walking free at this moment, on the basis of some laughably flimsy excuse which blames his role in the death of one innocent man and several innocent children on a theoretical curse that apparently puts the victim at risk of a triggered recurring Imperius? You've got to be joking!" But at this point, Hermione realised her ranting meant that she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the information she was processing rather than actual vexation at Malfoy.

"Do they not have political dissidence in the Muggle world? Or 'innocent until proven guilty'? Why must your savage, unsubtle, Gryffindor logic expect everything to be stark and absolute?" Malfoy had managed to procure another drink and was twirling the stem of his wine glass in elegant disdain.

"I recognise wrong when I see it! And blatant prejudice. Don't speak to me of political dissent when all you want to do is eliminate the rights … No! Make that eliminate entire _sections_ of the population! I bet most of your Pureblood Alliance was there that night at the World Cup, making sport of those innocent muggles! Is that your agenda?" Hermione's face was twisted in rage.

"That was juvenile, I agree. After all, what are muggle knickers to me? Except a lucrative business sideline, that is? Hardly, Granger. Muggles are no use dead. We just need fewer of them around. And take back the control of the planet from them before they kill it. Or are you going to argue that they are doing a good job of looking after it?"

"So you are pretending to be some sort of wizarding Green Peace now? "

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I am here as the scion of a noble wizarding family, trying to improve my understanding of muggle culture." He said the last word as if referring to something nasty stuck to his Dragonhide boots.

"You however, seem to be unable to get rid of your preconceived ideas. Isn't it time you outgrew petty classifications formed when you were prepubescent and ugly?"

"Or rather," he said, raking her up and down, "let me rephrase .When you were prepubescent? I would also suggest you stop huffing so much. You'll make your hair frizz. Ier. And now I must continue my interrupted congress with rather more amiable, not to mention presentable members of your spe… er special group." And he sauntered away, drawn immediately into the thick of things by willing hands.

Hermione had no idea how long she just stood there, being pushed and jostled by the crowd. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of a silver head, or a diffident smile cast her way by the ministry wizard.

Her body seemed to lack the resolution to move, and yet she found herself in the toilets, staring at a frizzy head that topped a small body in a too short skirt; her shoulders bowed with the weight of resignation, eyes awash with disbelief. With ludicrous disbelief. Riddikulus! She wanted to fling at the mirror, again and again till that picture of abject failure transformed into something conventionally loathsome. Yet it stayed, staring at her, pale and drawn, while the faint beat of stranded music sputtered with every opening and slamming of the door, marking the coming and going of oblivious Muggles.

An hour later, she was leaning in the fresh night air against the shutters of a closed shop, watching lonely cars crawl past in the night. Manda came out first, and then Katie emerged, leaning on a laughing Malfoy. Hermione hurried to join her friends—so, so scared that they would desert to the dark side, become unfamiliar and incomprehensible through sympathetic contact with the Slytherin. She realised that gin and tonic might have something to do with the imagery of her thoughts, but the sentiment was all hers.

"What is it? Come on, you've got to tell now. Draco!" Katie was very drunk and clinging desperately to Malfoy to keep upright.

"Something I found in a M-Mayfair shop, sweet Katie, it's Axe." Malfoy replied in a bored voice, though his hand was fondling Katie's bottom.

"It's divine," sighed Katie, breathing deeply from his collar bone, draping her entire body across his.

Manda was giggling and asking them to stop going at it on the street, while Katie laughed that she was helpless under the Axe Effect. Consequent to the events of the evening, Hermione was determined to find out whether this was a real charm or just a Muggle advertisement.

Hermione noted that Malfoy managed to hail a cab with a negligent lift of a finger, while she had unsuccessfully stalked the pavement despite much energetic waving of hands.

She bundled both her friends into the vehicle, and there, while Katie enthusiastically kissed Malfoy goodbye, learnt that they were to meet him for brunch during the day. Her protest was cut off by the slamming door and the cab drove off.

"Hmm! Dreamy… even better then I remembered."

Manda emerged from her drunken contemplation of the Natural History Museum building through the window.

"I agree with Draco, you know. Those French people ought to be shot for their nuclear testing. Right, Katie?"

"So, so right. Right, Hermione? …Hermione?"


End file.
